


bonnie and clyde

by tattletwink



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/M, Pegging, minor breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletwink/pseuds/tattletwink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set in between ground zeroes and phantom pain, eva and ocelot find ways to comfort each other while john is under</p>
<p>eva/ocelot, with background bosselot and eva/the boss and eva/big boss (apparently i can't write anything without having about a trillion vague pairings in the background haha)</p>
<p>written for metal gear solid pegging day</p>
            </blockquote>





	bonnie and clyde

She doesn’t hear about the crash until six months after the fact.

 

The letter arrives on a Tuesday afternoon, one white envelope on a stack of many. Flipping through bills and tired correspondence, Eva pauses on the familiar cursive. Her fingers trace the edge of the envelope, curiosity piqued.

 

There isn’t much to read, the contents are easily digested in seconds, but Eva’s breath constricts in her throat as she scans the passage. Ocelot’s neat printing communicates enough in three terse sentences to stop her cold.

 

“There was an accident. They doctors say John isn’t going to wake up. He lost his arm.”

 

It takes fifteen minutes for her to compose herself, to trust her legs to carry her forward. Throwing together a small to go bag together quickly, she makes the necessary calls to ensure her apartment will be looked after in her absence, that those who need to know where she is are informed.

 

She boards a plane in six hours later. No one sits next to her so she reaches for the letter again, still neatly tucked into her jacket pocket where she left it. Carefully unfolding it she rereads it for what feels like the hundredth time. She has it memorized but it’s the font that draws her attention.

 

She knows his script from her time at Groznyj Grad, but Ocelot’s never written her during the course of their long and complicated relationship. She’s lived long enough to be wary of the anomaly.

 

Folding it back up, she looks out the window. She doesn’t know what to expect when she lands. John at once feels like her own flesh and blood and alike a fogged abstraction, a man made distant across the years.

 

It’s been so long since she’s seen him, since she could claim to know him. And yet, the pain and spikes through her heart is overwhelming.

  

* * *

 

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Squinting at her from the door, there’s a clearness in his voice that tells her that Ocelot was probably awake before she rapped on the door. He’s naked, save for the revolver in his hand. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.

 

Eva disregards his hostile demeanor, crossing the doorway’s threshold to kiss his cheek. “You invited me, don’t you remember?” He pecks her cheek in return, contrary to his cross demeanor. As she pulls back, she notices how worn he looks, the dark circles under his eyes.

 

She pulls out the letter, now softer for having been worried under her grip for the better part of the day. Ocelot hesitates before accepting it. His eyes flicker back up to hers.

 

“I didn’t think it reached you.” he says slowly, carefully refolding the letter.

 

“It came in the mail today.”

 

Over the years, Eva’s learned that he never asks for things, not directly. There’s a lot more flexibility in inferences and insinuations, subtler methods of getting your own way. It’s a truth that comes with the territory of being a spy. For better or worse, the same tactics have a tendency drifts into one’s personal life.

 

Leaving a return address was as good as a written invitation in the circles they ran in. His surprise dissipates into remembrance, the letter clutched securely between two fingers.

 

“Well don’t just stand there.” He motions her in, albeit with an air of irritation. She’s never been one to be convinced by Ocelot’s shows of reluctance. Displays of caustic disdain always been a staple to their combative repartee. She enters, unfazed by his unenthusiastic welcome.

 

Eva doesn’t let her eyes linger despite the years of training that insist she search for illustrative details. She turns back to grab her luggage, silencing her own desires to allow Ocelot to preserve some of his dignity. He may know to guard himself, but there’s a limit to even his deceptions right now.

“There’s only one bed. You’ll have to sleep on the couch.” He says, gesturing to a beat up couch in the corner of the living room. Eva quirks an eyebrow.

 

The couch looks old enough to have personally witnessed at least two presidencies, Mottled grey couch with stuffing overflowing out of one the dilapidated armrests, it it’s well beyond salvage. More than that, it reflects the general aura of the apartment which was clearly chosen based on its proximity to the hospital and not Ocelot’s taste .

 

“There’s no way I’m sleeping on that,” she says flatly, regarding the furniture with unmasked disgust, “either we’ll both be sleeping in your bed or you can take the couch.”

 

“You show up in the middle of the goddamn night and have the nerve to demand my bed?” Ocelot retaliates, eyes narrowing. The picture is clearer now, there is a sharpness in his voice that rises unbidden. She can see his own surprise at himself, already knows he won’t apologize for his own unexpected outburst.

 

It’s not about the bed, so Eva doesn’t back down. But she watches him carefully, wondering when they will cut to the heart of the matter, to John’s still figure lying in a hospital room less than two hundred feet away.

 

“No, I told you we could share the bed,” she responds, brushing her blonde curls out of her face, “if you want to sleep on the couch you can, but you don’t have to.”

 

“Fine, take it,” Ocelot replies, already turning away, there’s a twinge of apology in the set of his shoulders. She follows him to his room, a short trip in the small apartment. It’s cramped, the bed taking up almost half of the room. Wallpaper is peeling off the side of the wall and there are little to no personal effects, save for few scattered books and folders and a jacket hanging on the wall.

 

“I’d imagine it’s not that much better than the couch,” he mutters. She’s stayed in worse places, but she had certainly stayed in better. It doesn’t matter. If she had cared about accommodations she would have booked at hotel, wouldn’t have bothered with Ocelot’s doorstep at almost one in the three in the morning. There’s a reason she came, albeit a curmudgeonly one.

 

“It’s fine,” she assures him, setting her carry on bag on the dresser. “Thank you,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder.

 

Ocelot waves a dismissive hand, padding off towards the couch.

 

She strips out of her clothing quickly, the fatigue of the day finally hitting her all at once. Digging through her bag, she retrieves a lacy flower patterned nightgown. She slips it over her head, the hem kissing the tops of her thighs. Standing in the doorway, she watches Ocelot’s figure on the couch, his back to her before turning off the light.

 

Sighing with exhaustion, she wraps herself tight. The sheets are still pleasingly warm with Ocelot’s body heat. Snuggling into the soft pillow, she falls asleep almost immediately. It’s a welcome, if temporary salvation, from her thoughts.

 

Only an hour or so later, the mattress dips beneath her. Her eyes flutter open as she makes out Ocelot’s figure in the dim lighting.

 

“The couch is unbearable. Move over,” he orders. She obliges, her back against the wall. He climbs in, careful to not touch Eva, but it’s a small bed and not touching necessitates sleeping on the very edge. Huffing softly, she encircles her arms around him, pulling him close.

 

“C’mere. You’re going to fall out, you idiot,” she murmurs in his ear, “Now go to sleep,”

 

Ocelot tenses for a moment then relaxes. His back is warm against her breasts, her stomach. His hair, longer now and with just the beginning trace of with silver, tickles at her nose. She doesn’t bother to break their embrace, unfazed by the intimate tableau. He falls asleep before she does, his own languid breaths easing her to back slumber moments later.

 

When she wakes up, she can make out the faint flower pattern of her nightgown pressed in delicate pink lines against Ocelot’s back as he rises to stand and get dressed.

 

* * *

 

 

The hospital is nicer than expected, standing in reception and signing themselves in she doesn’t see any of the typical cliental that mark a city hospital. Everyone is distinctly well dressed, there’s definitely certain level of social stratification is at work.

 

Ocelot watches everyone warily as she grins at the receptionist, charming her with easy conversation. He ignores them, impatient for her to be done with her business, but Eva knows better than most that cultivating good will in the right places makes the job easier.

 

It doesn’t take long to notice the Ocelot’s reputation amongst the staff. Nurses speed by him with their gaze pointedly ahead of them while attendings regard him with cool disdain over they clipboards. Eva is acutely aware of the eyes on them, but ignores it in favor of carefully cataloguing the hospital administrative data over the receptionist’s shoulder.

 

Together the click of her heels and the soft jingle of his spurs give more than advance warning to the staff that they’re en route to visit John.

 

“Making friends everywhere we go, I see,” Eva observes as a particularly harried nurse takes one glance up at Ocelot, before ducking into a patients room.

 

“I’ve made it clear that I expect the best for John. If they take it personally that isn’t my concern,” Ocelot muses, staring down whomever he catches in his crosshairs. John doesn’t have any family that Eva knows of so she wouldn’t be surprised if his treatment may have been lax without intervention. Unless a family member shows up to make a fuss its easy to lose priority amongst staff in this kind of place, regardless of how expensive it appears.

 

“It’s this way.” They turn into a brightly lit room. It has large windows, the sun casting its warm rays onto the floor and walls. Eva approaches the bed hesitantly, tentatively reaching out to grab the bed frame. Ocelot remains outside, allowing space for their reunion.

 

John looks small in the broad hospital bedding, his broad figure dwarfed by the hospital bed and equipment around him. Her fingers skim up the crisp bedding, moving to touch his face. Her heart skips a beat as Ocelot’s letter becomes an undeniable reality. Cupping his cheek in her hand, his beard is coarse against her fingers. He looks as tranquil, his face impassive as if just merely asleep.

 

She smile sadly, her heart heavy in her chest as she moves to sheet down to reveal his residual limb. They’ve done a good job of salvaging what they can, the distal flesh neatly sewn up with minimal scarring. She can’t help but remember sitting with him after he’d lost his eye, the bright flames licking the air between them as they talked about everything, but what had happened.

 

He hadn’t lamented his loss then, she doubted he’d lament it now. Then again, that was the Snake she’d known back then. Before he’d pressed ‘play’ on the recording and heard the bitter truth about the Boss, known the sting betrayals as it tore his naïveté asunder. Perhaps, he’d learned to lament loss in her absence, become an expert of the process.

 

Seeing him like this is too much. Sorrow engulfs her with predatory speed, her hands trembling as she raises the sheets back up, tucking him in. Her eyes well up with tears over a day in the making, blurring her vision before spilling down her cheeks in fat cascades. She brings a hand to her mouth as she chokes back the first sob.

 

She allows herself her tears. To feel the grief freshly and undeniably.

 

Dragging over a chair, she sits down next to him for the better part of an hour in silence. She holds his broad hand in her own, mapping out the nicks and scratches the scar along the tips of his fingers. She remembers being surprised at how gentle he was with his hands, how they grazed her skin with deliberate worship.

 

Only the steady beep of the heart monitor and the general milieu of the hospital disturb her vigil.

 

It would have been jarring seeing him now even outside of the painful circumstances she thinks. Momentarily entwined only to split off later, she’s kept what she could of him. Had her own little birds keeping her informed of his descent. The army he had built, the lessons he had forgotten, the bitterness he had kept close to his heart.

 

She sent her messages, carefully worded as concern instead of the warnings she wanted them to be, wanted desperately to preserve the man she’d known from the man he’d become.

 

As always, forces greater than herself stilled her tongue and John was left to navigate blind to all of the forces at play. She brushes her thumb against his skin, willing him to wake, to smile that quiet smile she’s missed all these years. He doesn’t though, remains undisturbed, so she sits with him reminiscing and petting his hand in her own.

 

Eventually she rises to leave, pressing a soft farewell kiss to his temple.

 

* * *

  

Outside of the room, the chaotic atmosphere of the hospital jars Eva’s senses back into real time. Turning to look for Ocelot, she discovers him to be precisely where’d she’d left him. Leaning against the wall , he seems unfazed by the length of the time of their interlude. Eva runs a self-conscious hand through her hair, jerking her head inside, “Do you want to see him?”

 

Ocelot looks in, but doesn’t move to enter. From the doorway, John looks smaller still, foreboding in his pristine slumber. She wonders how often he visits, given the amount of people who recognize him it has to be regularly. There’s a distant look in his expression. The questions linger a moment before he finally answers.

 

“I’ll visit another time.”

 

Eva nods, understanding that however overwhelming it may be for her now, this has been an ongoing process for Ocelot. As spry as he is, its taking the stress is clearly taking it’s toll. His looks away from John to her, evaluating her with familiar sharpness.

 

“You’re a mess,” he chides, thumbing away the tear tracks down her face, mascara bleeding down in thin lines. “How am I supposed to take you anywhere?”

Despite his fussing, his touch is surprisingly tender. Once satisfied, he withdraws his hand though his eyes linger on her own.

 

Eva half-smiles wanly, rubbing under eyes once more for good measure. “Big talk coming from the Russian cowboy.”

 

“I suppose so,” he accedes, smirking a little at the moniker. He looks momentarily lighter, his mood resembling something of his usual self. “Shall we?”

 

She gladly takes his offered arm. They walk out together, he holds her close as he steers them through a steady stream of staff, patients, and equipment. Cutting decisively through the turmoil, Ocelot doesn’t notice the glances that follow them.

 

Eva doesn’t either.

 

* * *

 

 

Over dinner, Ocelot outlines the diagnosis and the steep odds against John’s recovery. He speaks a clinical matter of fact manner, the exact words of the doctor’s passing through his lips with cool detachment.

 

He doesn’t add any of his own commentary, nothing about John’s spirit, or that he is a fighter. Drinking from his water, it’s clear enough that Ocelot’s decided to stay with him, but the bleakness in his eyes makes Eva doubt he believes there will be any fruit to his labor.

 

Eva traces the rim of her glass with her finger. Looking at him, she knows as well as he does that John’s gone, that they are playing at concerned parents for a child who has long since disappeared. She drinks from her glass, the whisky warm and velvety down her throat.

 

She excuses herself to use a payphone to cancel her next few assignments, to be placed on temporary leave. Though her talents lie in being a field agent, she’s particularly skilled in research and the research they need done isn’t location specific.

 

If Ocelot is staying by John’s side then so will she. 

 

* * *

 

 

After the devastation of the first day, the following days blur together into an assortment of half rituals and brittle schedules with alarming speed. Eva observes Ocelot’s patterns while forming her own, keen to create some emotional distance from John.

 

Together they visit John three times a week, early in the morning when the hospital is most tranquil. They part at the hospital to reconnect later in the evening, usually for dinner and drinks at whichever expensive restaurant draws their eye. Although their separations are brief, Eva finds herself looking forward to seeing him at the end of the day.

 

Barring chance encounters, they remain separate while they work. After all, friends or not, they both remain loyal to their respective masters. Eva finds herself diving into whatever leads are given to her, reading more thoroughly through the archives for supplementary information to distract herself from her grief.

 

Throughout the day Ocelot by maintains an impressive amount correspondence with a variety of contacts, either in person or via telephone. Eva doesn’t know the details, merely that though he’s remained by John’s side he’s far from retirement. Much like with John, she has no desire to know, to further entangle herself in the games he’s playing at.

 

The time the spend together is companionable. Ocelot doesn’t buy another bed, but he buys new sheets. It’s an unspoken agreement between them that she always gets in first, her arms wrapping around him snugly. They watch old Westerns (Ocelot’s choice) and Bond movies (Eva’s choice) on a VCR on Friday night’s, each giving their own specific commentary on the films.

 

Over dinner and long walks throughout the city, they talk about everything. They discuss the arts, philosophy, love, war, history, and loyalty with the easy camaraderie of those in the know. They dance around the personal until there is nothing left to discuss, until one confession spurns another.

 

Eva catches his eyes tracing her figure, the curves of her hips, the line of neck. It’s more than curious assessment. There’s heat behind his glances. She catches him more and more often, her light blue eyes pinning his own. He smirks roguishly, turns away. She’s more subtle in her evaluations, her eyes hungrily traveling his body without detection.

 

Ocelot doesn’t bother clarifying that they aren’t together when they go out anymore. Eva finds herself smoothing out the lines of his clothing, tucking his hair back with practiced nonchalance. The lines between them blend and dissipate.

 

There are reasons it wouldn’t work, not in the least of which being that Ocelot has only ever been in love with one man and that Eva’s only ever really loved one woman. Eva wonders if she’s been lonely this whole time without realizing it. Whether the situation has left them desperate for contact or if there’s always been this tension flickering at the edges between them just waiting for the right circumstances to play out.

 

Deep in her gut, she knows that she has to get out. There isn’t enough here for her to stay, whatever relationship she’s been cultivating with Ocelot is a house of cards, likely to collapse under the slightest breeze. John’s as good as dead and she can’t deny reality any longer. However sweet the delusion, she needs to take care of herself, pry herself from John’s narrative one last time.

 

She resolves to leave after visiting the man one last time.

  

* * *

 

 

Eva gives the last of her final confessions, the stories imparted from The Boss she had kept selfishly to herself. They had only spent a handful of hours together, but she’d clung to the fragments of the woman with greater tenacity than any of her previous loves. Sitting beside him, she allows them to pour freely, until John, if he can hear her, knows as much as she does.

 

It should feel cathartic, surrendering the last of her memories to someone else, but it feels hollow, like she’s wasting her breath. Ocelot listens, expression unreadable on the other side of the bed. She wonders if he ever told her, if it had even mattered.

 

They part at the hospital like they always do, except this time Eva returns to the crummy apartment.

 

She isn’t going to tell him she’s leaving, like so many betrayals he’ll only feel her absence later, sharp and bitter in his mouth. Ocelot will never leave John, too much of his life has been invested in a vagabond who will never awaken. A cunning and skilled man, Ocelot will never be without reason to continue, but there will always be phantom pains that grip him in the fading twilight. Sudden and vibrant, the aches will strike, the bitter reminder that John should have been with him.

 

He’ll be furious at her for abandoning them. She’ll be the two-faced bitch, the disloyal slut who ran when it counted. Every fault he accused her of in the beginning, before their relationship became more complicated, will come rise in his throat. There’s a jagged edge to the anger of a spy deceived, the acrid feeling that arises from having their rarely placed trust thrown in their face.

 

She says goodbye like she did the first time, the way she knew best when feelings arose during the mission. She’d done what she could for John, not out of love for him but her. Gazing at Ocelot’s things, she can’t help but feel like she’s being guided once more.

 

When he comes home that night, Eva’s waiting. She slides her leather fingerless gloves as she moves to answer the door. Naked save for the strap-on hugging her hips and the combat boots on her feet, she guesses she come to just about his height. She listens to him struggle with the sticky lock, key twisting fruitlessly, before opening the door. He inhales sharply upon seeing her.

 

He recovers quickly, shutting the door behind him as he takes it all in, his gaze lingering on the sizeable dildo between her legs. “Now, when did you get a dick?” he asks, somewhat breathily.

 

Eva grinds up against his thigh experimentally, feeling the layers of his clothing drag against her peaked nipples. “Picked it up at the store the other day. You think you can handle it?”

 

He laughs shakily as she rocks against him, movements growing more insistent. “Depends. Do you know how to use it?”

 

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, “ she murmurs, pulling free his scarf to suck and bite at his neck. He groans, gloved hands moving to rest on her hips. He tastes like salt and leather, less earthy than John, cleaner. She catches the faint alcoholic tang on his tongue as she moves downward, nosing along the line of his shirt.

 

He shudders when she breaks the skin, his blood coppery in her mouth. Eva thinks of John, dutifully sucks and bite the wound an angry flushing pink while Ocelot moans above her.

 

They break apart after a few moments, both breathing a little faster.

 

“You want to do this, cowboy?” Eva asks, watching for the slightest hesitation. Her own arousal is undeniable, her cheeks flushed as she hungrily presses her body against his own, cherishing the rough fabrics enveloping her bare skin. She needs him to want her, she can’t go down this path alone.

 

He moves a lock her hair away from her face, carefully tucking it between her ear. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with,” he replies quietly. It’s a lie, but it’s a small one. There’s will always be John, but around her he doesn’t need to make the distinction. Eva knows who he is, the lies he tells, and the sentiments he doesn’t have to. She pushes his jacket off his shoulder, but before she can go further he catches her mouth and kisses her.

 

There’s a flicker of passion, of desperation, in the way they kiss. She nips at him as his tongue moves to greet her own. She pushes his back against the door, pinning his hips with strong hands.

 

There’s a small part of her genuinely loves him she realizes. Without the looming shadow of his mother or the affections of John, there’s something distinctive about Ocelot that draws him to her alone. She can’t place it at first. It goes beyond their similarities or a sense professional respect. It’s more nebulous than that. There’s something in way he looks at her.

 

Like they’re Bonnie and Clyde. Like the rules of the world will never matter to them, like he’ll die by her side while they tear the world apart.

 

His loyalty, seldom given and fiercely protected, draws her the same way John had. Magnetic and dangerous, it’s all she can think about as she pulls him tighter into her embrace.

 

She pulls him into the bedroom. His clothing crumples to the ground. He hesitates, uncertain. He’s been undressed before her so many times before, but there’s always been a pretense, flimsy as it may have been. Standing before they can no longer deny what they’re doing.

 

Authoritative and smooth, she pulls him back into her, guides his hands along her body, nips at this bottom lip. He relaxes incrementally, exploring softer flesh than his own with unpracticed hands.

 

She drops a hand between them, giving his length a few strokes. He hisses at the contact, the drag of leather against his shaft reminding him of a memory he can’t silence. He’s not fully hard yet, so she works him slowly, thumb teasing over the head with flourish.

 

Ocelot’s breath against her neck hitches as she commands him to get into bed, voice rough and forceful. For a man of many complexities, she’s not surprised that he’s as easy as that, from what she’s heard John’s always attracted a certain kind of man. She channels him where she can, eases the transition. She runs a calming hand down his back while she reaches for the lubricant. If he’s anxious it doesn’t show on his face.

 

Slicking up the dildo, she braces herself on the small bed, pulling Ocelot’s hips to meet her own. Eva works him open with deft fingers without much care, for his part he tenses and moans beneath her as she makes her presence felt. It must sting like hell, but his ragged panting beneath her and his unflagging arousal between his legs urge her forward.

 

She teases at his prostate, only ghosting the sensitive spot every few pumps of her fingers. He groans beneath her, voice needy, “By all means, take your time.”

 

“I’ll do as I please, “ she replies coolly, removing her fingers and wiping them on the bed sheets. She sinks into him in one fluid motion, her grip on his hips tight enough to leave bruise. Ocelot hisses between his teeth, dragging in deep breathes as he tries to relax at the intrusion.

 

“You’re okay,” she soothes, running a calming hand along his back. She waits until his breathing evens out to move again, his head nodding in readiness. Running her hands down his thighs, she can’t help but appreciate how strong he is, the litheness of his form.

 

She pulls out and presses back into him forcefully, hips pistoning at just the right angle. Her pulse thuds heavy in her head as she sets a punishing pace. Ocelot pushes back into her, their chaotic motions set the flimsy bed frame rattling. She can feel her own arousal growing as she listens to the obscene sounds of them fucking, of Ocelot’s throaty moans. She watches the sweat gather and slide down his back hungrily.

 

Their bodies work surprisingly well together, establishing a rapport quickly. Eva can’t speak for Ocelot, but she’s had her paramours. There’s something unique to the submission in Ocelot’s figure that is at once entrancing and temporary. This will be the first and last time they’re together she thinks. After she leaves, the alarms sound. She won’t be welcome in this intimate place again.

 

Thrusting into him with the wild abandon she assumes John would have, she fucks him like it’s the last time. Savoring every inch of his skin, biting and thrusting at him with animalistic hunger. If this is her one chance, she’ll take all she can get. Ocelot shudders beneath her ministrations. She leaves scratches and bruises he’ll find days later, souvenirs of their tryst.

 

Her thighs tense. They burn with unpracticed exercise. Sensing Ocelot’s closeness to the edge, she takes full advantage. She wraps one hand around his neck, while the other drops between his leg. It’s a possessive grip, not enough to choke, but enough to make breathing uncomfortable. She gives his cock a few rough stroke that push him over the brink. He comes violently, spilling over his stomach and the sheets.

 

She pulls out of him, allowing him to fall back onto the bed. He rolls over, his face relaxed and sated, panting beneath her. Eva smiles, can’t help but wonder how much would John have enjoyed seeing this. Stepping off the bed, her legs a little shaky beneath her, she unfastens the hardness and steps out of her underwear. Eva’s about to attend to her own need when a hand catches hers.

 

Ocelot pulls her back into bed, neatly into her. Inquisitive fingers move between her legs. He kisses the line of her neck while she arches her back. She can’t help but grin at the absurdity of the whole thing, her hand moving to guide Ocelot’s in it’s ministrations. He gets her off quickly, her climax catching her breath in her throat.

 

Those gun twirling skills are good for something, she can’t help but muse as she pulls him close.

 

He kisses her shoulder and she kisses his hand. The silence is comfortable, only their labored breathing filling the cramped room. They fall asleep in the same bed for the last time.

 

* * *

 

 

Eva extricates herself from Ocelot’s sleeping figure with careful fingers. Sliding out of bed, she searches the apartment for her things, thinks about how funny it is how broad your life can spread over the course of a few months. There’s a flight she can catch in two hours if she can make it to the airport in time. She doesn’t think about Ocelot, about John, she moves quickly and efficiently packing her bags as though catching a plane is the only thing on her mind.

 

She’s about to leave, about to walk out on everything when she catches Ocelot watching her from the bed. With her baggage in hand, it’s clear what she’s doing. Running in the night like she’s always done. She freezes, her eyes caught on his own. She moves her mouth to speak, but can’t find the words.

 

He lets her leave in silence. It’s a small kindness.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I haven't played MGS4 yet so this probably isn't canon compliant
> 
> 2\. THE BOSS IS THE ONLY PERSON EVA EVER LOVED in my mind, but everyone ship what they like that's just my feels
> 
> 3\. The title is cheesy because I am cheesy, I'm v sorry haha
> 
> 4\. Comments are super appreciated if you feel so inclined!


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